


Range of Efficacy

by hotrodngold (Krystalicekitsu)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, Comment Fic, Hurt/Comfort, John Watson Being Awesome, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/hotrodngold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock goes down on a case and John's suddenly the one with all the answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Range of Efficacy

Sherlock is down.

Not at all expected, but John's sure the big, sociopathic detective would take a sick sort of glee in the knowledge that he's bleeding all over a genuine Persian rug.

John certainly won't be.

The only reason John hasn't completely lost it, is that he's a doctor; he knows that head wounds look horribly lethal no matter how bad they are. It's the nature of head wounds. They just naturally bleed like a bitch. Not that that is doing anything remotely helpful for his rising level of not-calm.

The second goon jabs his own gun between his shoulder blades and he would be insulted but the irritation suddenly wins the internal battle it'd been having with the panic for Sherlock that he wasn't feeling and, instead of kneeling like the large bloke behind him suggests, he opens his mouth.

"You know the reason that little pissants like you should heed the laws and stay far, far away from guns?" He starts dropping his hands from his head slowly.

"Hey," the gun is jammed between his shoulder blades again, "Watch it, guv. I got the gun, right?"

"Not for log," John mutters before continuing his explanation, "It's because a gun is a very precise machine. Each model is specifically engineered to fit a specific range of circumstances and have very specific operational niches. For example- a gun cannot be exchanged with, say, a knife.

"Take, for example, this particular handgun- the SIG-Sauer L106A1. Standard military issue for army. It has a 14-round capacity- 13 in the magazine, and one chambered- weighs 34 ounces and is nearly identical to the SIG P226 excepting that it has an improved protective finish.

"It's prime range of efficacy is between one and thirty meters. On either side of that range, it either becomes useless, or a hazard in the hands of the first idiot who decided to pick one up."

"What the-"

John ignores the second jab except for the half a second after the gun is removed. The fraction of a second after action where muscles relax and momentum is going the wrong way to counter the spin and deflect he executes. It's not any work at all to roll into and behind the thug with his gun, or to put him in a one-armed choke, as unstable as it may logistically be. These amateurs wouldn't know how to break it if they read the manual.

Which is really all the explanation he needs to give for the ease with which he puts three rounds into the one with the knife and then directs the gun downwards, muzzle snug, and probably still hot, against the knee inside his own.

"Say, 'cheese'," John whispers.

And fires.

 

When Sherlock finally comes around, it's to a splitting headache and some buffoon tapping gently on his cheek.

"Sherlock. Sherlock, love, where should I hide the gun so we don't get keelhauled for murder?"

Sherlock blinks. "Did you just murder someone? Dear lord, I must stop drifting off during the exciting bits."

John taps his cheek again, waving a bloodied handgun and trying to wipe off a large smear from his face, "Sherlock, please concentrate. The gun?"

"Ah. Right. The gun."

So, then, Sherlock thinks, it might not be the best time to mention how hot a devious and dangerous John makes him.

Good thing he's free tonight then.


End file.
